Little Goldsworthy
by ishrinkingviolet
Summary: "I don't understand why things have to be so awkward." When Clare comes face to face with a little something, Eli just might get his answer.


**This story had actually been requested, and yes, it is a one-shot. Never written one before but I thought I'd try it out.**

**Review if you want more one-shots like this!**

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"So are you sure you're okay with doing the Grundy Awards?" Clare inquires softly, for the sake of having something to say. Focusing intently on the cap of her bottle, she averts her gaze, doing everything she can do avoid his eyes. She can feel his stare penetrating through the flimsy wall she put up as a barrier, having not known what to expect- one minute there was gratitude flowing through her veins, feelings of appreciation for her temporary newspaper crew. More than happy to bury the hatchet with Ali, and glad that the murky air between her and Jenna was cleared up. The next, the air around her is dissolved in a thick haze. Under the presence of someone in particular, there is electricity. There is a current enveloping them, and it's as if he's waltzing in slow-motion. The infamous guitar-pick necklace. The healthy glow of his skin. The person who walked through the door was not in fact the boy she left that frightening night in the hospital, or the boy up on stage during the performance of Love Roulette.

It was a boy she knew.

"You need a writer for the arts, don't you?" he says, stretching out his legs before him and proceeding to take a delicious bite out of his apple. Clare can feel him studying her, scrutinizing her every move, and she doesn't know what to feel of this.

"Okay. So let's discuss the angle." Keeping her head bowed, she digs in her bag for a notebook and a pen and set them on the table.

"Clare," Eli leans closer to her, trying to direct her attention towards him. He merges his brows together, mildly perplexed by her refusal to make eye contact. Through her thick curtain of brown tendrils, he could barely see her face.

She glances at him briefly, humming a soft 'uh-huh- before looking back down at her lap again.

"I don't understand why things have to be so awkward," he says pragmatically, rationally. "All of our feelings for each other, that's all in the past."

Something uneasy sets in his stomach when he says these words, and he presses his lips together in a futile attempt to repress such feelings.

"Yeah," Clare agrees quickly. "We've um, moved on from that."

"Then why do you appear so guilty?" he queries, trying to impose a little bit humour in the somewhat uncomfortable topic. A hint of a playful smirk creeps up on his face, but it feels mangled.

"I'm not guilty," she says defiantly, switching over to the Clare he had always known her to be. Obstinate and stubborn in all her glory. This time he smiles for real, and glances down at his feet. Some things never change.

"Very convincing, Edwards," he teases, arching both his brows.

Clare opens her mouth to speak, but is interrupted by the swarm of seagulls flying nosily around them. Somebody had dropped a plate of pizza, and the angry birds were fighting for their share of the smallest morsel.

"You're one to speak," she says loudly over the chatter of the gulls. Half-grinning, she folds her arms over her chest. "You never had gone this long without a snarky comment when we dated."

"So what are you implying? That I'm uncomfortable in your presence?" he smirks, happily playing along.

"Well, I'm perfectly fine around you, so you tell me."

"I'll have you know that I feel completely at ease here," he fires back.

"No old feelings resurfacing at all."

"Not one bit."

"Completely moved on."

"Couldn't agree more."

"I don't think-"

Suddenly, they are interrupted, and it all happens very quickly. Distracted by their own childish bantering, both had failed to notice that the seagulls had made their way overtop of them. And as they circle their table, one had abruptly decided that the pizza had taken a toll on him, and released the parts he had eaten in the form of something that was quite vulgar, in Eli's opinion. A while fluid came descending from the sky, splattering all across the boy's lap with a disgusting sound. A split-second passes before either of them registers what had just happens, and when it finally processes, Eli jumps up with a yelp.

"Oh my gosh," Clare gasps, doing the exact opposite of what Eli had done. As he pops up on his feet, she drops to her knees, a clean napkin already in her hand. Out of instinct, she reaches over to wipe the nasty substance off of his pants, unaware of what position that would lead up to.

Eli doesn't say anything, and is still speechless from shock. Adding to that, he suddenly is cognizant of Clare's exact location at his feet, and gulps nervously. It rushes over him like a big wave- the realization, followed by what could be called a very teenager-like reaction. Wide-eyed, he watches her blot the wet spots at his upper thigh, eyebrows stitched together in sheer pity for the misfortune of the situation. It's dripping down his legs, but he can't even concentrate of that.

All he feels is his male anatomy, as it rises to the occasion.

_Oh my fuck oh my fuck no please no_

But against the desperate pleads in his head, it happens. And it's bulging through the wet material of his khaki pants.

"I-ooh." Good Lord, her reaction would have been the most adorable thing ever if he wasn't so positively horrified at the moment. He can't help it- Clare's face was mere inches from that region, and her hand was literally hovering over that location and _touching _some delicate part of him. Heaven knows he was still in love with her, so of course they had to play that card. Just of course.

"Well…I'm just going to…." He trails off, willing his feet to take him far, far away from here. _But why weren't they moving? Move, damn it!_

"Did you just….because of me?" Clare tests the words out on her tongue, utterly bemused by the idea of having such an effect on Eli. Judging by the rare, ever-present, furious red flush painted on his cheeks, her theory is confirmed. "I am!"

And she sounds _thrilled _about it.

"Why are you so excited about it?" he moaned, legs feeling like jelly and feet rooted on the spot. He pathetically plops back down on the bench, hastily taking off his leather jacket to cover up his problem. His heart is beat frantically against his chest, and his mind is buzzing with incomprehension. He doesn't know what the hell he's supposed to do.  
She laughs, and it sounds like wind chimes swaying gently in the breeze. "Oh I don't know. I just find it quite humorous, if you don't mind."

"The Clare Edwards I dated would be utterly _scandalized _if something like this happened," he grumbles, face still heated.

"You know, I kind of wish this had happened earlier," she muses brightly. "You're a lot more fun when you're embarrassed."

"Tease me, will you?" he groans.

"Oh fine, I'll just leave you and Little Goldsworthy alone." She winks and gets on her feet, and then does something Eli would never in his wildest dreams imagine her do. Initially standing on his tippy-toes, she bends down slightly and pats him in- well, _that _area. "I'll discuss the paper with you later."

His reaction? Eli jumps so high off the bench he's sure his bum would develop a mean bruise form the rough landing. His heart jerks back and forth inside of him, and he feels as if his guts are wrenching in his stomach. In the good way. He swallowed the giant knot in his throat and closes his eyes, trying to relive the moment of bliss all over again.

And it isn't long before he throws his jacket aside and hops off his seat, hurrying to catch up with Clare.


End file.
